Generation: Ghost
by xxCrashCourse
Summary: Shortly after Phantom Planet, more and more hybrids came into the open about their identities-much to the pleasure of the GiW, who quickly passed a law requiring each hybrid to "register" with the government-when in fact, the halfas were being captured, locked up, tortured, and experimented on. But they won't stand for this any more. Time for them to make their stand. AU OCxOC
1. Lying in Wait

People had long come to accept ghosts as reality. What they weren't aware of is that the ghosts that they'd come to accept were unintentionally creating a generation of hybrids—through tragedy and near-fatal experiences while under possession, a ghost's DNA would bind to the human victim's DNA and create a hybrid, one who walked the line between life and death every day. I was a hybrid. We could choose to be dead or living. We could transform, be human or ghost. By channeling our core energy, we could become a ghost and access all the powers of the ghost world. When we were done with whatever we were doing, we could become human again through the same process. Most of us never transformed, having no need to. Others would use invisibility or intangibility to get into trouble, and then transform again to throw off whoever was onto them. A few even went so far as to use their ghost powers to fight off and protect others from ghosts. I stuck to myself, using my powers on rare occasions.

While the general public didn't know hybrids like me existed, a few specialized forces did. I don't know how they knew, but I suppose the government knows everything. They hired ghost hunters to gain intelligence on the known hybrids, and through them learned the locations and identities of hundreds more. And then it began—The Reaping. The day when hundreds of kids, teens, and adults all just vanished or died. They captured us, and killed many who fought back. Those of us who survived were put into specialized prisons scattered across the country, tucked away in little pockets away from civilization.

They'd accounted for everything. We wore collars that prevented us from harnessing our powers without extremely painful side effects. Even if we managed to bypass that, though, the guards' weapons could hurt us even in ghost form. There were one hundred of us. There were 53 guards who took 12 hour shifts. They were diligent, and watchful, and very persistent. Nothing we did escaped their sight. Messing up could put us in solitary, or isolation. Minor offences could get us a brief shock or zap from the guards.

Nights were cold. We were given thin sheets for our cots, and the barred cell doors meant that if there were cracks in any of the windows on the outer prison walls, wind could sweep into the cells and chill us to the bone. We could hear it whistling all night. There were no lights. There was no privacy. Toilets were in our cells, mere inches from our beds. We also had a metal chair and metal table, built into the cell wall. We only had three outfits per person, all of them an ugly, mucus color. Some were lucky that theirs were at least well fitting. Mine hung on me like a bag.

Three times a day we were released to the mess hall for twenty minute meal times. "Good" prisoners had thirty minutes or so of recreational time a day. Twice a week we were released to the showers, all in the same room and without even curtains separating us from the other prisoners and the prying eyes of the guards. Once a week we were bound and taken to the experimentation room, where we were often tied to a table for hours on end while the scientists did strange, often painful things to us. One of the prisoners a few cells down had scars from multiple "surgeries" performed on him, usually while he was awake to "reduce costs." The guy in the stall across from me came back every week with a different broken bone, so that they could study how we healed.

We didn't have names. We were numbers. I was number 73. It got to the point that on some days I couldn't even remember my name. I knew I had one. I had parents somewhere. I wonder if they knew what happened to me, or if they sat up late at night wondering. If they'd already moved on with their lives or if they saw me on every corner, in every alley, in every passing car.

We wouldn't stand for it though, the other 99 hybrids and I. We had powers that far surpassed any technology the humans could throw at us. We had done nothing wrong, nothing that would give them reason to lock us up, other than become something abnormal without ever being given a say in the matter. We were getting restless. I could feel it. The others could feel it. The guards could feel it. The scientists could feel it. The warden could feel it. The day was approaching when we would taste freedom again—by force, if necessary.

But for now I was laying in wait.


	2. Silent Long Enough

Lights out was several hours ago. My best guess was that it was at least 11 o'clock. I couldn't sleep. Something hung in the air, feeling different. The way the air moved through the prison felt off. I couldn't place what it was, but something was not the way it should have been. The hush just felt _too _quiet. I tried waiting it out. I tried sleeping it off. I tried rationalizing it—maybe there was a storm cell heading in. I tried to brush it off—I didn't know how long I'd been in here, maybe I was just going crazy.

The guy in the stall next to me stirred. For some reason the sound of him turning on his cot put me on edge. A little ways down someone flushed their toilet. The sounds weren't exactly calming, though over the course of my stay I'd gotten used to them. Tonight for some reason they sounded differently.

Someone shouted from the next row down and began running their tin can across the bars. One by one, others joined in. The clamor was too much for me to tune out. I rose from my bed slowly, my joints feeling stiff. Without even thinking I reached to the table and grabbed the tin cup with my number on it, feeling the cold metal in my hand. Warily I stretched to the cell bars and ran the cup across it. In this enclosure even the sound of metal on metal qualified as music.

"Quit that racket!" a guard shouted.

"No!" A prisoner shouted.

"We've been silent long enough!" Another cried.

"No more!" screamed a third. "You will hear us!"

A siren sounded. My heart raced. That meant only one thing. The siren only sounded if a prisoner was found outside of his cell at an inappropriate time. I'd heard it before. Plenty of people had tried to escape the first few days, battling guards during shower or meal times or attempting to get over the towering concrete walls on the occasional recreation day. It'd been a while since the last attempt, but I was still certain it would end the way all the others did—recapture followed by a stay in isolation. It wasn't until a man ran down the aisles, unlocking gates as quickly as he could before moving on, that I felt any sense of hope. He came to mine and I realized he was in ghost form, the collar visibly shocking him, pain contorting his face as he struggled with the keys.

"Thank you," I whispered, looking into his green eyes. He was young. Maybe 15. The bravest 15 year old I've ever met. I think his name was Jake. I don't know. I never interacted with the other's much. He nodded at me curtly, already halfway to the next cell.

I grabbed the bars and yanked the cell open. I stepped out, glancing up and down the aisle. Guards were storming the prison. There was no way out, not without using our powers. I grabbed at the collar on my throat, searching for the hundredth time to see if there was a power button, but knowing that would be too easy.

A guard tried to grab me. I slid out of his grasp and retaliated with a high kick to his jaw. He grabbed his pole from the belt on his side, pressing a button for it to slide to full length—a little over two feet. The spot at the end of the pole was fully capable of hurting me. I had to get the weapon away from him.

He jabbed at me. I ducked to the side, and he narrowly missed. He swung. I ducked again. He tried bringing it down on top of me. I jumped back. He thrust it forward at me. I stepped forward and grabbed it. A struggle ensued—the prison guard who had put in many hours training for this scenario, and the underfed teenage freak. He pulled it, and I yanked back. Knowing I would lose this if I played fair, I delivered a swift kick to the guard's groin. He cringed and went down on his knees, giving me the perfect opportunity to grab the weapon. I yanked it from his hands and brought it down on his head. He collapsed in front of me. I didn't stick around long enough to find out if he was unconscious or dead. I ran to the next aisle over, one step closer to the exit. I saw Jake struggling with the keys, fighting off the beam of light that transformed him back into his human state. He was exhausted. I sprinted over to him. "My turn," I stated, grabbing the keys from him. He gladly handed them over, collapsing against the wall in one cell to take a break. I sprinted from cell to cell, unlocking them and letting the prisoner break out on their own. I hadn't transformed into my ghost half, so I wasn't in pain. In fact, I couldn't figure out why the kid hadn't changed back, unless he was using his ghost powers to defend himself as he traveled the prison.

Someone called my name. Amelia. No one had called me Amelia in months. Did anyone in here even know me as a name other than Number 73?

At that point someone came from behind me and tackled me to the ground, pressing my face into the concrete floor. I cried out in pain and shock, desperately struggling to get away from the guard on top of me. "Help!" I screamed.

There was a flash of purple and the weight on my back was gone. I jumped to my feet and glanced around. Purple. I hadn't met someone with purple yet—but I used to know a guy who's color was purple… Was it possible…?

No. No, they did extensive testing to make sure people who knew each other weren't in the same prison. But they'd made mistakes in the past.

"Amelia!" the voice cried out again. I looked in the direction of the sound and a grin spread across my face.

"Zavier!" I cried back, running to him and wrapping him in a hug.

At first he seemed shocked, but he responded after a moment by wrapping his arms around me as well. We took a moment before the sound of an explosion startled us and we split.

"We have to get out of here!" I cried, sprinting for the nearest door.

"No shit!" Zavier responded, following me.

The door was locked. I took a few deep breaths and a few steps back before slamming into the door with my shoulder. Pain spread across my back and my fingers tingled and went numb, but I had more important things to worry about.

This doorway lead into the recreational area, the domed, simulated-outdoor environment that we were occasionally allowed to visit. I cussed. This didn't help at all-and worse, there was only one way in or out. Especially because I couldn't just go intangible and just phase in or out of the building thanks to the stupid collar I had on.

Collar.

Zavier wasn't wearing a collar?

Zavier!

"Z, I need you to phase us through the walls here, please."

"I'm...not sure I remember how."

"Z, come on, you've got this!" I screamed, desperate to get out.

He glanced at the door, where guards were already beginning to enter and rush us. Without a word he dove at me and wrapped himself around me.

A tingling sensation spread across my body and then we were falling.


	3. Final Obstacle

We landed on the grass just outside the prison with a thud. It took me a moment to breathe before I noticed that I'd landed on top of Zavier. I blushed and jolted to me feet.

Grass. Fresh air. The _sky! The stars! _It was all so wonderful! As I stared up at the night sky I felt a sense of hope and comfort wash over me—things I hadn't felt in months

But we weren't out of the woods yet. There was still one more huge wall separating me and Zavier from the real world. The glow of a flashlight rounded the corner and I knew we didn't have much time. It would be a long time before we were out of immediate danger. I leapt to my feet, Zavier not far behind me. Without saying a word, he grabbed my hand and we tumbled through the wall.

We hit the groug at it desperately as the shocks continued. "We've reached the edge of it's border, I'd imagine." I waved him forward, growling my sentences through clenched teeth. "Go on without me," I urged.

"I'm not leaving you," he running. The prison's tall shadow loomed over us, the alarms screaming at us as we sprinted into the dark depths of the forest. I was leading the way; tucked up in that little isolation cell, Zavier hadn't spent much time stretching his leg muscles and was still getting used to running again.

Or, I _was _leading the way; until a zap of electricity ricocheted through my body, bringing me to my knees.

"What is it?" Zavier asked, frantic.

"The—collar!" I gasped, pullin

"Damnit! Zavier—get outta here!"

"Amelia, you're my best friend. I've almost lost you twice already. Let's not shoot for three!" He bent down and scooped me into his arms. "I'm so sorry," he began, "but this is going to hurt." He pressed onward, jogging through the woods, ignoring my protests.

With each passing minute the shocks became stronger. I could barely hear Zavier's repeated apologies. I lost control of my body, muscles shaking and spasming as I lingered on the edge of conscienceness. "Z, take me back," I pleaded. "Z I can't do this, take me back, please!"

And the world faded to black.

**(a/n. sorry it's so short. life is hectic since I moved into college. Anyways. Follow us on tumblr? ask-generation-gh0st)**


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